Technological Mishaps
by Balletvamp
Summary: Arthur gets turned into a car, America decides to use this situation for his amusement. Will eventually be America/England...sort of. Francis gets thrown in too.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Just borrowing them a bit. Uhhh yep.

Arthur should have known it was going to be one of those days. When he'd woken up (during the wee hours of the morning, as he liked to have tea while watching the sun crest over the flower gardens in the yard) he'd had a sense of foreboding.

It was that sort of sudden illogical premonition of impending doom that you can't help but wonder if there would be a logic to curling back up in bed and sleeping until the next day. Unfortunately, Arthur chose to get up. In retrospect, he chastised himself for being an utter prat, as with his background in the occult he should have known to take such portents a bit more seriously.

Really, this was that damn Frog's fault…or at least it was gratifying to blame Francis for this ill fortune. If the pansy-assed blonde hadn't been threatening to come prancing over today with plans to set up the shorter man on a date, Arthur never would have attempted to concoct an invisibility potion in such a brief amount of time. Or, at least, he probably would have read the fine print in the grimoire more carefully.

Arthur's current predicament was nearly beyond his ability to fathom. While Francis would certainly not be able to find him, per say, it was more a case of the other having no possible chance of recognizing him, more than it was Arthur having become invisible. After all, the ardent Frenchman would hardly be able to identify the sleek silver classic Aston Martin in the drive as his favorite adversary.

Because yes, the misfiring enchantment had turned Arthur into a car, a sodding motor vehicle. 'Bloody fucking hell' didn't even begin to cover his feelings on this turn of events.

His initial shock had been great. He'd been expecting to fade from view and instead there had been a rather large explosion, most of which felt as though it were inside of him, by the degree of pain involved. Although not certain, he was fairly sure he'd lost consciousness and when he'd come to, everything felt…foreign.

Arthur had spent many a morning, or rather early afternoon, waking up feeling utterly knackered after a going off on a bender the previous evening. But this particular feeling went a good deal beyond wonky and into the territory of horrendously queer. He couldn't feel his limbs, for one thing, or at least they didn't feel as they'd felt his entire life. He couldn't discern the rhythm of his heart, something he'd not noticed except for it's lack now, which lead him to realize he wasn't breathing…an alarming realization that caused him to finally open his eyes.

Which was when he truly comprehended something was exceedingly amiss. It wasn't that he couldn't see. He very much could, but he was seeing a great deal more, and from many more angles, than he'd spent his whole life viewing his surroundings. The new perspective also enlightened the Brit as to what was causing all these new and bizarre sensations.

Had he been someone else, someone younger and less experienced, he may have suffered a complete nervous collapse. As it was, his alarm set his new motor revving and the stereo system went haywire, blasting music. Arthur most assuredly didn't need the crooning of mister Bowie to let him know he'd undergone some major 'Changes'. 'Turn and face the strange' my giddy aunt's arse, he thought to himself…then proceeded to wonder where his thoughts were even coming from now. Engine? He was obviously an older model Aston Martin, thus no computer chips were involved.

The formerly blonde man (also formerly), was still taking stock of his new…condition, when he heard the front door open behind him and a familiar masculine voice called out his name.

Bollocks! That damn Yank must have let himself in through the back door. Of all the rotten luck. Of course, maybe Alfred was his best chance for getting himself out of this predicament without anyone else being any the wiser. Though, when did anything with the American ever go quite as easily as planned? He had only moments to decide, as the other man had taken note of the shiny new car in the drive and was on his way across the lawn to admire it…


	2. Chapter 2

Looking around surreptitiously, Alfred slunk closer to the shiny new vehicle just sitting there, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. The car was obviously new and the American could almost imagine the virgin vehicle smell that one found in new autos. Granted, that was probably actually just the scent of plastic and leather off-gassing toxic chemicals, but it didn't detract from the little joy he gained from it. After all, he'd nearly made a lifestyle out of unhealthy behaviors. However, if Arthur had just gotten this car, there was no doubt he'd not want Alfred coming anywhere near it… However, seeing as the uptight Brit was nowhere to be found at the moment, surely it couldn't hurt to just check quickly if the driver's-side door was unlocked.

Creeping closer yet, the bespeckled blonde shot a peek over his shoulder to assure the coast was clear, and then brought his hand to run fingers over the gleaming silver metal of the hood appreciatively. Which was when the engine suddenly came to life, rumbling with quiet power beneath his hand and nearly startling the piss out of the American.

"Alfred!" Arthur's voice seemed near and yet somehow held a quality of distance to it. Al yanked his hand back as though burned none-the-less. No doubt he'd been caught and he looked around guiltily. Only to discover the other man was still no where to be seen. What fresh hell?

"Arthur?" his voice held equal parts confusion, amusement, and ruefulness, "Where are you, old man?"

"Right here!" came the peeved reply from the direction of car, "I need your help." Now Alfred couldn't help but grin at the obvious distaste the other had in saying such a line and he bent over to look under the vehicle, figuring the shorter man had tried to fix something and bungled it.

"What?" the blonde began, not quite at the level to see beneath yet, "You're finally trying to catch up with the technology of the 21st century, Artie? Ya might have wanted to start with a car from this century then…" He trailed off, because there was no one to be seen beneath the undercarriage of the machine.

"No, you moronic dolt," came the exasperated reply, sounding fairly tinny, as though coming through an old radio system or microphone, "I'm literally right bloody here."

Nearly smacking his head while righting himself, Alfred looked around suspiciously, not used to Arthur being the sort to play games. How could the Briton be doing this? It was obvious from this position that the shaggy haired, thick browed, man was not in the car proper…unless he was laying on the floor but that seemed even less like the other.

"THE CAR, YOU SIMPERING WANKER, THE CAR," this blasted through the now rolled down windows, obviously from the stereo system and Alfred nearly had to hold his hands over his ears from the volume and the hostility in the words, "I AM the car, the car is ME. I really botched up one of my potions and this is what happened!"

For a moment, the American stood there, dumbfounded. Then he snorted, scratched the back of his head as his cheeks colored for taking a moment to respond, and looked around for his friend once more.

"Bullshit, Artie," he laughed, "but good one, for a second there I actually considered that." He pat the hood of the Astin twice, as though slapping his knee. In reply to this action, the car's motor revved once again, causing a glimmer of alarm to pass over Al's features, before the Astin Martin lurched forward a few inches, just enough to knock Alfred over onto his arse on the pavement.

Scrambling backwards in a crab walk, Alfred stared at the car wide-eyed, his hair in disarray and glasses askew. This was some sort of trick, it had to be…and yet…he knew perfectly well that Arthur could do magic, had done it to amuse him before. Plus, the sort of technological know-how it would take to play this trick was more along Kiku's line of expertise, not the Brit's.

"Arthur?" his voice was hushed, still slightly disbelieving…after all it wasn't every day your friend, and sometimes lover, turned into a motor vehicle.

"No shit, you smarmy twat," came Arthur's voice over the stereo once more, "This is what I've been telling you. I potioned myself into a blimey car. And I need you to help my undo it. The antidote should be on the same page in my spellbook. Go get it and make me human again." The headlights seemed to rearrange themselves to eye Alfred, who was beginning to smirk, and this alone was enough to make Arthur's bossy tone lose it's luster just a bit.

"Oh, I dunno, Art," Alfred practically purred, climbing to his feet and dusting off his back before laying a hand more boldly than before onto the hood, "I think this could provide a bit of entertainment, if you loosened up a bit."

"What sort of codswallop are you driveling on about now?" the engine hummed and the frame of the car seemed to vibrate with displeasure, "Please do remember, Alfred, I can run you over if I wish."

The threat fell on seemingly deaf ears, as the blonde began to slowly stroke his fingers over the top of hood, his skin sliding easily over the smooth metal. Honestly, this was much too good of an opportunity for the American to not take advantage of. His curiosity was piqued as to what the other felt and how he'd react.

"Alfred!" even coming through the stereo, it was a recognizable inflection in the other's voice, that of the Brit attempting to deny a rising lust, a condition Al knew well in the other. The engine gunned it but the car didn't move forward.

However, the rumbling under the hood had given Alfred an idea, as he'd easily been able to feel the vibrations in his fingers. With a cheeky grin, he began to lower himself towards the hood, until he lay half sprawled on the auto, chest against the silver. The engine fairly snarled now and Al could hear the Brit sputtering through the speakers within, as he leaned his face closer to gave a long lap of his tongue to the obviously clean metal. Suddenly, the radio sprang to life, over Arthur's voice.

"Had you come some other day

Then it might not have been like this

But you see now I'm too much in love"

"Really now?" Alfred smirked, looking up, eyes glittering with mischief and lust, "The Beatles? I'm really gettin' to ya huh?"


	3. Chapter 3

( This part is SO short D: Sorry! My brain is just mushy. I'll try to write a really long part for the next bit after this. *apologizes* )

The music snapped off with an audible click, leaving a gaping silence behind which the American filled with a chuckle before licking his lips. Ever so slowly, he dragged his fingers across the hood, lips quirked in a sly grin as he felt the motor humming through the hood, against his chest.

"So I guess even encased in metal," he practically purred, "You just can't control yourself around me, huh Artie? Oh yeah, I'm so fine I even turn cars on! Do I rev you up?" It was obvious he was particularly delighted with himself. His cheeky smile fell a bit, though, as his ears caught the sound of the stereo coming back to life and ticking through stations before a well known English synth pop group blared into life.

"Now five years later on you've got the world at your feet

Success has been so easy for you

But don't forget it's me who put you where you are now

And I can put you back down too"

It was Alfred's turn to be silent now, though seeing as it's Alfred, this was more of a momentary pause than an actual stop.

"Really?" he snickered, and rolled over onto his back to have a good laugh, "Isn't it a little too early in the game to be resorting to eighties hits? And did I totally just get threatened by a vehicle? You're like Herbie!"

"Oh for god's sake, Alfred," came Arthur's slightly static-y retort, "I know you generally have no sense of taste or class, but even you must realize a sodding Volkswagen cannot begin to compare to an Aston Martin!"

"Ha!" Alfred chortled, patting the hood as though it were a large dog, "I'm so sorry, your Royal Vehicularness! I didn't mean to offend your fragile metal heart, oh ye of great luxury and power. Hey, James Bond had a car just like you!"

The sound of sputtering came once more from the speaker system and the windshield wipers came abruptly to life, squeaking over the already pristine and dry windshield.

"I've turned into a machine, been molested, and all you can yap about is fictional characters? You're bleeding lucky I don't run you over, you barmy git!"

"Molested?" came the snorting reply before Alfred started to wriggle in place, "I've barely even begun to tease you, old man." With that, he sat up on the hood, loosened his tie, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Alfred! Stop that at once! What if someone sees you?" The engine roared to life again, revving as though someone had stomped angrily on the gas pedal, and nearly drowning out Arthur's words.

Sky-blue eyes twinkled merrily as the American let the unbuttoned shirt hang open, exposing his broad and, Arthur couldn't help but notice, quite fit chest. The be-speckled man was clearly enjoying himself as he struck a pose on the hood, looking for all the world as if he'd found himself in a posh magazine spread.

"So?" he countered, looking smug, "What do you have to worry about? All they'll see is one incredibly sexy hero being scandalous on a badass car."


End file.
